Upon seeing Roger sitting there, looking at me wide-eyed, I did the only reasonable thing.

I ran away.

The menus I was holding dropped to the floor, and I turned and ran off as fast as my legs would carry me – which was pretty fast, considering I was young and fit and ran as a hobby.

Behind me I heard a chair clatter to the ground, and then Roger’s voice shouting “Xander, wait!”, but by then I was already almost at the double doors which led to the kitchen. I crashed through them and then sped across the room, dodging and weaving to avoid slamming into the chefs. In retrospect, it was a miracle I didn’t seriously hurt myself or anyone else – a restaurant kitchen in the middle of service is always full of dangers, if you’re not paying close attention you can get stabbed or burned really easily. All the kitchen staff goggled at me as I ran; behind me I could hear the kitchen doors open once more, and Roger calling for me by my old nickname.

I ran through the kitchen’s back door, turned left, almost literally dove into the female changing room, slammed the door behind me, and locked it.

I collapsed to the ground, my back against the door, shaking like a leaf.

It was all over.

Roger had seen me. Everyone at school would know. My parents would get wind of it eventually.

I was hoping to still be able to keep all of this under wraps for a few months more, to come out on my terms, but that was a pipe dream now.

I heard a frantic knocking at the door. “Xander! Xander, are you in there?” came Roger’s voice. “Please, open the door. Talk to me.”

Then several other voices started talking in the small corridor behind the door. Among all of them, Silvia’s stood out.

“Young man, this behaviour is completely unacceptable!” she shouted; I don’t think I’ve ever heard her voice so angry. “This is a staff only area, and you are trespassing. And you could have hurt someone, running recklessly like that!”

“Please, my friend is in there!” said Roger. There was some more frantic knocking. “Xander, please! I just want to talk!”

“Stop it at once,” the chef commanded. “I am willing to overlook this if you leave and go back to your table right now!”

“I’m not going anywhere until I talk to him!” Roger replied. “I just-- Hey, stop! Get off me! Xander!”

I had heard enough. I was deathly afraid of facing him, true, but at that point, what choice did I have?

I stood up, unlocked the door, and swung it open.

The scene was almost comical. Everyone was frozen in an awkward position, looking in my direction, probably because they’d heard me open the door: Roger was clearly in the process of being dragged off; Stefan and Francis, the sous-chef, were grappling with him, while Silvia towered over them, a stern expression on her face; and Molly was standing a small distance away, looking on worriedly.

I sighed.

“It’s alright,” I said. “Let him go.”

Silvia looked at me with concern. “Are you sure, Lexi? You do not have to do this.”

I gave her an uneasy smile. “Thanks, but… I kinda do.”

The chef hesitated, then said, “Okay,” and nodded to the other two chefs, who released Roger.

“Let’s go out back to the parking lot,” I told Roger, turning to face him. “We can talk there.”

“...Alright,” he replied. He turned to Silvia. “I’m really sorry about this. Could you please tell my family I’ll be back as soon as I’m done here?”

“Of course,” Silvia nodded.

“Table seven,” I supplied. “Let’s go, Roger.”

Wordlessly, he followed me; when I passed by Molly, she put her hand on my shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze, in a reassuring gesture. I really needed it, because I was feeling extremely nervous about the upcoming confrontation.

After Roger and I went out of the back door we just leaned against the wall next to it, not talking, for several minutes: it was clear neither of us knew where to even begin with the discussion. I pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one, then offered one to Roger, but he refused with a gesture.

After a while, I broke the ice.

“What are you doing here, Roger?” I asked. I noticed he was a bit startled by the sound of my voice – I’d made a point of trying to use my female timbre, though I don’t know how much I managed that: I would later find out that it was really hard to concentrate on it while I was emotional, and my feelings were in a turmoil at that moment. Still, it was clearly different enough from my old voice so as to be noticeable.

“I… We’re having a family dinner. For my birthday,” he explained. “It was the first evening after the actual date all four of us were free.”

I nodded. “And of all the restaurants in town, you walk into mine.” There was a tinge of accusation in my voice. Just barely, but it was there.

“It was a coincidence,” Roger said, his tone somewhat apologetic. “I wasn’t the one who chose the restaurant, and besides I had no idea this was the place you work at. You never told me.”

Hadn’t I? I tried to remember if had, but I honestly wasn’t sure. “I see.”

We both fell silent; I didn’t know how to continue the conversation from there. Finally, Roger addressed the elephant in the room.

“So,” he said, motioning to me – or, rather, the clothes I was wearing. “You look nice. Suits you, really.”

I took a deep drag of my cigarette and exhaled the smoke. “Thanks,” I replied.

“Is this… A thing?” Roger asked. “Like, I mean. A capital-T Thing?”

How does one even begin to answer a question like that? In the end, the only way I could answer was to give a deep sigh and say, “Probably.”

Roger took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “Okay. Whoa,” he said. “You know, I never would’ve though. We’ve been friends for years, and there were no signs…”

I let out a brief, bitter laugh. “Ha, nope,” I chuckled, “The signs were there alright. But I didn’t notice them until recently either, so I don’t blame you for not seeing them.”

Roger nodded. “Though it does explain some things. Like the long hair, and the shaved body – we’re not even close to the level where that would make a difference in sports. And the nail polish, of course.”

“Yeah.”

“So the name…? The one you used back there.”

“Lexi?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him. When he nodded, I continued. “Yeah, that’s my name. I think. Might change it later. But probably not, it feels right.”

“Okay. Lexi, then.”

Another moment of silence. A little less awkward, though.

“You know, I’m glad we’re talking about this,” I said. “I was afraid you would… I don’t know, laugh at me, or hate me, or--”

“Xan-- I mean, Lexi. No,” Roger interrupted me. He stepped forward from the wall, turned to face me, and grabbed me by the shoulders, looking me in the eyes. “I could never hate you. Never, Lexi.”

I was startled by his sudden assertiveness. All I could do was stare at him.

“In fact, I…” he said, but then looked as if he’d caught himself and stopped. He took a deep breath. “I mean, we’re best friends. We grew up together! You really think I would…?”

I saw a bit of pain in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Roger.” I said. “It’s just…” I sighed. “This is all new to me. I barely know left from right at this point. I would have told you eventually, probably sooner than later. It’s just…”

I looked away from him. “…I’m scared. By this. By all of this.”

He nodded. “I understand that, Lexi. And I respect you not wanting to tell me right away, and wanting to wait until you were ready.” His grip on my shoulders tightened a bit. “Just know that I will always be here for you, no matter what.”

I felt my eyes moisten a bit. Roger. My best friend. What an idiot I’d been for not telling him. For running away like that. For not trusting him.

I sniffled a bit.

Roger looked at me inquisitively. “Need a hug?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” I said in a small voice. And we hugged.

Oh, how I’d missed this. Roger was a pro at giving hugs: he enveloped me in his arms, and squeezed just the right amount, so I felt connected to him, but he wasn’t overbearing; on the opposite, he was comforting.

We hugged for what felt like hours, but in the end it was probably less than a minute.

“Thank you, Roger,” I said when we separated.

“You’re welcome, Lexi,” he replied. My name felt wonderful when he spoke it.

Another moment of silence hung between us; but it wasn’t awkward any more.

“It’s probably better if we go back inside,” I finally said. “I’m willing to bet the maitre’d is going to give me an earful for running off like that in the middle of service. And on such a busy night, too.”

“Nah, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Things happen.” He put his finger to his chin, thinking about something. “So, shall we start the night over again? You can wait at our table if you like.”

I suddenly realised something. “What about your parents? And your brother?” Since me and Roger were childhood friends, our families knew each other. If they told my parents…

Roger seemed to intuit what I was thinking. “Ah, they’re cool with LGBT stuff,” he said, waving his hand. “I’ll tell them it’s best to keep it private, at least for now. You can count on them not telling.”

“...Okay,” I nodded.

Once again he followed me through the restaurant’s back door, and we passed through the kitchen on the way to the dining room. As we walked through – no running this time – the chefs looked up at us from their stations; Silvia gave me a concerned stare and mouthed, are you okay?, and I nodded in return.

When we reached the dining room I told Roger to go on ahead, while I looked for the maitre’d. When I found him I profusely apologised for just leaving him high and dry, but he just smiled and let me off with a warning, “This time. Don’t do it again.”

I thanked him, and grabbed some menus before making my way to table seven. I could see they’d been served wine and water, but there were no plates on the table, and the bread was already three quarters gone; clearly they’d waited for Roger to return before ordering their food.

Okay. Again, big smile. Concentrate on your voice, Lexi, don’t let it slip. Here we go.

“Good evening!” I said cheerfully. “I’m Lexi, and I’ll be your waitress for tonight. To start off, may I suggest some amuse-bouche with prosciutto and foie gras? They’re special, just for tonight.”

“Sounds great,” Roger said. “Let’s start with that.”

He winked at me, and my smile became even wider.

 

 

“You, young lady, are so god damn lucky,” Miriam said, shaking her head, when I’d finished recounting my adventure. “You’re probably the luckiest trans person in a thousand-mile radius. You do realise that, don’t you?”

“I do,” I nodded, still smiling at the memory of the previous night.

“Honestly. I’m a bit startled you’ve been getting nothing but positive reactions from everyone you come out to, statistically you would expect someone you know to be a complete scumbag.”

“Hey now,” I mildly protested. “I curate my friendships, that’s all.” The few I had, really; in fact, there wasn’t anyone except Roger I was particularly close to.

“Still. You’re either an excellent judge of character, or you lucked out big time.” She sighed. “I just wish every trans person were as lucky as you.”

“Yeah, me too.” I’d heard plenty of horror stories about how trans people (and other queer folks in general) had been treated by their supposed friends and families once they’d come out; I wasn’t sure what I’d done to deserve being so lucky, but I sure wasn’t going to complain.

“Anyway,” Miriam said, “I think we’re done for today; it’s been about an hour.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“I have to say, Lexi,” she continued, “I’m really impressed by how far you’ve come in such a short time. You’ve figured yourself out, accepted yourself for who you are, and built a solid support network.”

“Thank you,” I replied, smiling.

“In fact, I think it’s time for you to have this.” She pulled a business card out of her purse and handed it to me.

I read what was written on it: Doctor Maddy Wilkerson, 585 Stewart Street; along with the name and address were a phone number and an e-mail address, which I guess belonged to the person named on the card.

I looked up at Miriam. “What’s this?” I asked.

“That’s the doctor in charge of trans healthcare at the local Planned Parenthood,” she replied. When she saw my blank stare, she explained further: “They can prescribe you hormones on an informed consent basis, you just need to do some blood work – that is, some blood analysis to check if you’re fully healthy – and sign a release.”

She paused. “You know, if you want to. You don’t have to, but it’s there if you need it.”

“...Oh,” I said dumbly, looking back down at the card.

I was silent for a few moments, then continued: “It’s kind of a big step, isn’t it?”

“It is,” said Miriam, nodding. “But I think you’re ready for it. What’s most important, though, is that you need to decide by yourself if you want to do this.” She leaned forward and stared at me intently. “Remember, you’re valid, even if you decide not to do this.”

I hesitantly nodded back. “Okay.”

“Good,” she said, leaning back. “So, two weeks for now once more?”

Another nod.

“Alright. See you in fourteen days, then.”

I stood up and left Miriam’s office, making my way back to where I’d parked my bike. I felt the business card in the pocket of my jeans, moving slightly with each step, almost as if reminding me it was there.

And I wondered.

Was I really going to go through with it?